


why are you so warm (and why do I like it)

by bluejob



Category: Warrior Nun (TV)
Genre: Angst, Character Study, F/F, Temperature Fic, Work In Progress, homophobic parents
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-12 21:07:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28891860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluejob/pseuds/bluejob
Summary: A temperature fic following Beatrice at the different stages of her life and showing her happiness through temperature, warm=happy, cold=sad. Strong AvatriceChapter 1: 75°F | 24°CChapter 2: 15°F | -9°CChapter 3: 35°F | 1°CChapter 4: 45°F | 7°CTBC
Relationships: Sister Beatrice/Ava Silva
Comments: 1
Kudos: 42





	1. what's the difference between a creek and a stream

###  _**Chapter 1**_ _:_ what’s the difference between a creek and stream

_75°F | 24°C_

The sun is shining, the sky is clear, temperatures already starting to rise as Beatrice steps out into the glaring, luminous sun that heats her skin perfectly. Gasping in the dazzling sunlight, enjoying the summer sun before it gets too hot. Books in hand as she walks through the large backyard of her parent's estate. Her eyes drifting over the far trees in the distance, swaying in a warming breeze. The heat bouncing off the sidewalk in front of her, causing an illusion of wavering images. It seemed as if the sidewalk was hot enough to cook an entire English breakfast. Beatrice didn't mind though, her mind too preoccupied to worry about the weather. 

Her nanny had just delivered her a new stack of books she'd snuck in from the library. After Beatrice's relentless begging for weeks, she finally gave in. It wasn't Beatrice's fault her parent's books were too boring, everything was about a language or about a man who had died a thousand years before she was born or about some random math formula that she didn't need.

Beatrice's mind needed stimulus. (Preferably about princess ballerinas that could save the world but she could settle for Amelia Bedelia)

She'd grabbed three books out of the stack of nine, picking the ones with the most interesting covers to take with her. Excitement bubbling inside of her as she approached a bench near a still river creek, droplets of sweat forming at her temple. With a glance at the wooden and metal bench ahead of her, her walk had turned into a skip.

When Beatrice reached her destination, she settled her books on the bench and went to look down at the creek. It was crowded. She could see tadpoles and turtles swimming at the surface. Swarms of fish swiftly swam by occasionally. An army of frogs croaking nearby.

The sun was beaming down hard on her back, but she didn't care, too enamored by the site in front of her. 

She moved her hair out of her sight, cursing her mother for not letting her cut her hair, citing scripture she did not understand, nor did she want to, and exclaiming something about purity.

After a few minutes of gazing down into the creek, Beatrice shifted back to her original task, reading. With each step back towards the bench, the soft sounds of crushed, dry grass under her shoes could be heard. 

Her mother had griped to the gardening staff about ‘letting’ the grass die when there was no possible way of saving it under the blazing sun, The scorched Earth surrounding the estate was oddly comforting, it reminded young Beatrice that time indeed pass. Seasons changed, months pass, years go by, and yet she remains in the standstill that is her youth. The strangely philosophical thought hit Beatrice but she quickly shoved it away, focusing on more important things.

She nudged the stack of books left on the bench aside to make room for her to sit. Using the arms of the bench to help her ease down into the seat. Forgetting that said arms were made of metal. The metal arms felt white hot, Beatrice hissing at the contact and rushing to withdraw her hand from the side. The stinging took a minute to fade out. She teared up a little, but it was nothing big. Not enough to stop her.

She blew lightly on her palms before reaching out to grab the books she set down on the bench. Deciding that it was better to sit on the dried and dying grass than atop burning hot metal. 

The book cover is hot against her hands. It had grown hot under the blazing sun. Warming Beatrice's hands and, in turn, cooling the book down. 

On the bright side, now she could sit closer to the creek. Listen to the gentle movements of the stream below. After pausing for a moment to look for a spot in the shade, Beatrice sank down onto the grass. It felt warm under her, the rugged edges on blades of grass brushing against her ankles as she got comfortable.

Grabbing one of the three books in her hand, putting the rest down on the ground. Grazing her fingers on the title, Mommy, Mommy. Beatrice didn't bother reading the synopsis on the back, she enjoyed the mystery and suspense of opening a new book and having no clue what it was about. The book was quite thin, couldn't have been over 75 pages long. Shorter than what Beatrice was used to, she didn't mind, the length did not matter but the story inside did. A lesson she’d learned early on.

She took a deep breath and began reading. The book was boring enough, the first twenty pages were a description of a young boy getting picked on at school. Beatrice had never been picked on, so she struggled to imagine that people would do such a thing. She was beginning to lose interest. Almost fifteen minutes had gone by and nothing exciting had happened in the book. Just as she was about to close the book and grab another one, something caught her eye. 

At this stage of the book, the little boy's mother had come to pick him up from school. Before she could go through, a teacher stopped her with some questions.

She asked the boy's mother about her husband, to which she responded with, _"My wife."_

_"Excuse me?" The teacher was puzzled, confused on what the other woman meant._

_"I don't have a husband; I have a wife."_

The words jutted out of the paper, Beatrice couldn't pull her eyes away. My wife. This was new, she did not know that women could marry other women. Her thoughts glued to the idea of having a wife. 

_My wife. My wife. My wife. My wife_. The words replaying in her mind. How come no one had told her about this? She felt almost giddy, amazed at the idea of marrying another woman. "My wife." She whispered softly, wondering how it would feel to call someone that. Her future flashed through her eyes, laughter, kisses, smiles, sunshine, sweaters, happiness. 

_Warmth._


	2. fuck it's cold

###  **_Chapter two_** **:** fuck it's cold

###  _15°F | -9°C_

Every molecule in Beatrice's body was screaming at her, begging her to just turn around and run, but she was stuck. Her feet glued to the floor. The room was chilly. The walls were gray and dark cyan. The furniture was white. The only sound was of a white clock on the wall. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Other than that, it was painfully quiet. The kind of quiet that was so loud, so strong, that Beatrice was afraid she'd go Deaf. God, it was cold. The type of cold that reached to her bones and left her feeling exposed, vulnerable, open for anyone to strike at any time. She was almost shivering. Her fingers edging to fidget with her sleeve. Her lungs hurt. Why did her lungs hurt? She drew a very icy breath that felt as if it was her last. Almost choking at the sensation.

The urge to vomit was bubbling within Beatrice, the nausea accompanied with a throbbing headache did nothing to soothe her nerves. She'd never been this terrified in her life.

Every atom in her body was screeching at her. It was bitter, bitter, bitter.

The past week's events replayed in her head. She'd been doing fine in private school. More than fine actually, she was excelling. The best marks in all her classes, head of the track, fencing, and badminton team, student council president, surrounded by good friends. She was happy.

(Her parents said she could do better whenever she spoke of her accomplishments. To which Beatrice adopted as her life motto, "Always can do better.")

Everything was going great. For now.

A month or so before this day’s events, Beatrice made friends with a new girl, a girl from New Zealand. She was pretty, smart, athletic, everything you could admire in a girl. Beatrice thought very highly of her new friend, treating her with the utmost respect. She started to notice how she would seek out the new girl's presence. Eyes scanning a room for that familiar smile, walking through halls that weren't part of her normal route, sitting in the cafeteria during lunch instead of studying in the library.

She also noticed her own behavior changed around the other. She was louder, more open-minded, a bit cruder, wasn't always thinking of her studies. She felt freer, like she could actually breathe.

Beatrice didn't just notice things about herself though, she'd noticed things about the new girl as well. She noticed the way her forehead crinkled ever so slightly when she smiled. Noticed how sometimes her hair determined her mood, if it was in a high bun then she was focused studying, low bun meant a gloomy day, hair down meant happy and laidback. Noticed how she'd bite on the edge of her pens and then use that same pen to put her hair up. Noticed how she'd pinch between her thumb and index finger when she was nervous, which Beatrice adopted as her own nervous habit.

How her own breath stopped when the sun hit her golden hair perfectly after she ruffled it to the side.

How that one time when she pushed up Beatrice’s glasses while biting her lips with a smile and she forgot to breathe till she turned purple.

When Beatrice fell during track and barely scraped her palm but when she grabbed her palm she faked being in pain so she wouldn’t stop holding her hand.

When they snuck in the same tiny, tiny, tiny stall in the school bathroom and she all but straddled Beatrice to avoid getting caught for skipping.

When she kissed her cheek after she passed a test Beatrice helped her study for.

When she mindlessly held Beatrice’s hand while on a school trip.

And then Beatrice noticed how she was noticing so many things about the New Zealander. At that realization, Beatrice came to realize she had a crush. She liked the new girl. The thought scared her as much as it excited her.

No longer did their natural friendship seem so… natural. Beatrice started flinching out of a mixture of excitement and fear whenever they touched, started staying quiet in fear of saying something foolish. She distracted herself when on the same bench, or even in the same class, because she thought she’d scare her away.

The week following said realization was filled with small moments shared between the two girls. Were they always this close? When did they catch each other's gazes from across a room and burst into laughter? When did they start holding hands? When did they start taking bathroom breaks just to enjoy the others company for a few minutes?

When did they _kiss_?

For the love of god Beatrice can't bring it upon herself to remember. All she can remember is the warmth she felt in every second spent with her.

What she **can** remember is the feeling of completeness. The taste of her cherry chapstick, the smiles in between gasps, the softness of her lips, the smell of her shampoo, how perfectly their mouths latched onto another. It all felt so right, right, right.

What Beatrice does not want to remember is a teacher walking in on them kissing in the locker rooms. What Beatrice does not want to remember is the sheer amount of fear seen in the other girls’ eyes.

The flash of disgust that passed through them. She'll never forget the feeling of all that warmth draining out of her, the feeling of relentless, brutal, **cold**.

The process of getting sent back home is blurry. Only thing she remembers is stepping through the front door of her parents' manor. Now she's here, practically shivering under her mother's gaze. It doesn't falter as her mother slowly came down the stairs, step by step. Beatrice had never felt so cold in her life.

The house was uninviting, presents itself as if it was going to swallow Beatrice whole and never spit her back out. She grew up there, but it still felt grossly unfamiliar. Most likely because her parents never bothered to keep the same decor for longer than six months, either buying a new house or changing the house they were living in. Beatrice's entire childhood was like this, always changing, never given enough time to fully settle in and feel comfortable.

Her mother reached the end of the staircase now, making calculated strides towards her. Beatrice bowed her head, not courageous enough to look her mother in her eyes. She can hear her mother stilettos hit the floor with every step, inching closer and closer. Before Beatrice knows it, her mother’s infront of her.

There's a deafening silence. It's the loudest thing in the room, overpowering the ticking clock and the sound of Beatrice's shallow breaths. It stays like that for a bit quiet, muted. What feels like hours pass by. Beatrice's eyes still glued to the floor, not daring to look up.

Her mother still hasn't moved, hasn't even made a sound.

“Mother I-“

The thought is cut off by the loud slap delivered to Beatrice's cheek. It stings and feels numb at the same time. Her cheek throbs with a slight frost. Beatrice is trembling, losing all self-control. She starts fidgeting with the sleeve of her shirt, starts shaking and shivering at the cold, starts crying. Tries pushing her tongue to the top of the roof of her mouth because she read in a book that it stops tears.

It doesn’t work.

She tries holding her breath, but her body still jerks with gasps, trying to grasp the air she so desperately needs but refuses to give. Her lungs burst with the urge to cough, causing her body to jerk even further, the lack of air makes her lightheaded and she thinks if she focuses on the feeling enough she’ll stop the tears.

Eventually her body forces her to breathe. She gasps, her body trying to inhale as much air as she can at once.

Beatrice feels ashamed. She feels ashamed for being happy, she feels ashamed for showing weakness, she feels ashamed for not being able to look her mother in the eyes, she feels ashamed for crying when she’s the one at fault, she feels ashamed for disappointing her mother, she feels ashamed for putting her own needs above the wants of her mother.

" _Pathetic_." The words are spewed out like venom. Her mother spits on the ground in front of Beatrice before turning around and leaving.

That's the only interaction between her and her mother for two days. The morning of the third day Beatrice's mother comes into her room holding two suitcases, "Pack your bags. Your father and I have decided to send you to a boarding school. A Catholic one." She never says where, Beatrice only finds out by looking at her plane ticket. Switzerland. How ironic. After her mother sucked every inch of warmth out of her, she sent her to a place that is the very definition of cold. The plane ride there is foggy, all Beatrice can think about is the feeling she gets after her first step outside.

**cold.**


	3. for the love of god stop staring at me like that

**_Chapter Three_** : For the love of god stop staring at me like that

_35°F | 1°C_

The first time Beatrice actually talks to Ava she doesn't think much of it, other than the fact that she's barely sitting next to her, but she can feel the heat radiating off the younger girl. Beatrice simply blames it on the halo and tries her best to ignore it. She sees Ava as a girl put in a strange situation, it only makes sense for her to be confused about everything. Beatrice is still wary around her though, she doesn't know how long Ava will be here. So, she treats her with complete neutrality, not holding a grudge but not begging to be her friend.

Her next interaction with the new halo-bearer is when Beatrice walks in with Father Vincent to see a crying Ava being shouted at by Mother Superion. She rushes over to the weeping girl, unsure of what to do. Contemplates leaving her alone but doubts that's right. So instead, Beatrice offers a comforting hand on the shoulder. Something to show Ava that she wasn't alone, and that she was here for her. What Beatrice doesn't expect is that the moment she secures her hand on Ava's shoulder, Ava turns around and rushes into Beatrice's arms.

Beatrice acts on instinct at first, her arms moving to hug Ava back but when she comes in contact with the younger's back, she's stunned. Ava's back is scalding. It’s hot, hot, hot. The skin burns red-hot, bright, and violent. Beatrice almost winces at the pure warmth she just felt, the sensation still fresh on her fingertips.

Ava's sobbing into her shoulder, her body shaking against Beatrice’s. Her hands clutching at the taller’s back. Beatrice can feel the tears soaking into her shirt, for half a minute she's blindsided. The feeling of fire slowly fading out from her hands. Then Beatrice forces herself out of it, she just touched a girl's back that has an angel's halo inside of her, of course it was going to be warm. So, she moves her arms back, embracing Ava. She tightens her hold, hugging the girl so hard she thinks it might be choking her.

Ava doesn't say anything though. Her sobs have slowed, body isn't shaking terribly against Beatrice, her whimpers have quieted down into small sniffs. Her hands are still tight on Beatrice's back.

Beatrice considers letting go and taking Ava to her room, but she doesn't dare, too captured by the burning sensation on the few pieces of skin that come into contact with Ava’s. It reminds her of simpler times, of sunny days back home, of the day she sat and read at the creek.

The thought almost brings a smile to Beatrice's lips, but it's quickly cut off by the train of thoughts following. The chain of events that lead to where she was now, the first domino to fall. Her mother's words ring in the back of Beatrice's head and at that, she pulls away.

It takes Ava a second to let go of her back, but what she sees almost breaks Beatrice. Ava's eyes are swollen, her lips trembling, her nose a little snotty. But what really gets to Beatrice is her eyes. So full of passion and pain. And Beatrice can't even imagine what happened to her for that much sorrow to be behind those bright eyes.

She can see Ava’s body jerking with her tears and she’s reminded of her own tears, that desperate feeling to stop crying at whatever the cost. It hits Beatrice so hard and so deep that the same feeling she felt on that faithful day bubbles up inside of her. The shamefulness runs throughout her and it puts her conscious in auto-pilot.

What happens next is murky in Beatrice's eyes. She lets Ava leave first, not wanting to leave her by herself. She stands there for a couple of minutes, recollecting herself, before walking out behind Ava. She decides to give her a head start, a chance to find somewhere quiet to sit. Beatrice isn't necessarily worried about the girl, she'd met her that same day it would be ridiculous. It was just that she was worried she'd run away.

So, Beatrice gives it another thirty seconds before following Ava's steps, only to find her sitting in an old hallway that led up to the second floor of the walls. The path is lit by dim candles and quickly Beatrice is sweating, most likely caused by the many candles surrounding her. (At least that’s what Beatrice hopes it is) This time Beatrice doesn't get close, careful to set a distance between them. Just in case she gets pulled into the worm pool, that is the utter glow of Ava. She had more self-restraint than that, Ava might be the halo-bearer but that gave her no power over Beatrice's emotions. (Ha, that’s funny)

Beatrice doesn't say anything, just leans against the wall across from Ava and lets her start. Trying to help Ava remember her death. Every syllable uttered by the younger girl is filled with agony. The somber words hit Beatrice where it hurts. She keeps her composure though, this isn't about her, it's about Ava.

Beatrice looks at Ava, really looks. She takes in everything she sees with a deep breath. Something catches her eye, a faint glow around the halo-bearer. So translucent that Beatrice thinks she's imagining it at first, but with closer inspection she knows it's real. It's the halo presenting itself through Ava. It shines oh so bright, bright, bright. The sight amazes Beatrice, pushes her conscious mind aside to make room for the sheer admiration passing through. It makes her curious; she wonders if she could feel it. Wonders, if she even gets anywhere close to it, will it disappear?

Before she grasps it, Beatrice has moved closer to Ava. “Don't let her get to you,” the sound of her own voice registering in her mind.

She's trying her best to comfort Ava, telling her things Beatrice wishes somebody had told her when she first arrived. Comforting Ava is what she is supposed to be focused on. So why can't she stop thinking about that stupid hug.

The feeling etched into her mind, the sheer amount of complete warmth that she felt in those few moments. Beatrice yearns to feel it again, her hands itching to leave her side and reach out to Ava. The feeling scares Beatrice, her mother's voice shouting out from her cloudy subconscious. _Pathetic_. The word rings in her head and forces Beatrice out of her thoughts. 

Ava's face is lit up by a dim candle in front of her, her eyes are full of various emotions. Beatrice can see the pain from her past, confusion from the present, and the fear of the future with only a glance. “But you believe me.” Ava's voice is shaking, it's smaller than earlier. She hasn't looked at Beatrice since she walked in but it's easier for Beatrice that way. 

Beatrice pauses for a second before replying, opening the curtain on her thoughts of the new halo-bearer. “I think you're thoughtless and self-centered. But dishonest?”

She's not lying, she does think Ava is wrapped up in her own world. Knows that the number one thing on Ava's mind is herself and only herself. But what Beatrice leaves out is her growing curiosity in Ava, the peaking interest she feels whenever she's around. The growing urge to reach out and touch that glow around Ava, feel the foreign sensation of heat.

Beatrice shoves the thought aside because Ava's looking at her now. The whole time Ava's been staring at her toes but now she looks up and meets Beatrice's eyeline. She's looking at Beatrice.

No, not looking at Beatrice. She's looking up to Beatrice. There's hope and happiness in her eyes. A much different mood than earlier. The sight fills Beatrice with an unusual feeling, it feels right. It feels so very raw, raw, raw. Feels comfortable.

She only thinks about it for a moment before Ava's voice brings her out of her head. "Thank you." The words are uttered with an overwhelming amount of emotion. There's a mixture of thankfulness, relief, and laughter. Beatrice attempts to dissect the root of all three but isn't given the chance.

Ava's lips leave a slight smile after thanking her. It takes all the willpower in Beatrice's body to not look down. To not gaze down at Ava's lops. She's close to giving in until she notices that Ava's smile has grown and is now just staring at Beatrice. Doe eyes peering her soul.

Beatrice's mind is immediately swarmed with questions. 

Why is Ava just looking at her? Should Beatrice Leave? She comforted the girl so what's left to do. Does she wait, does Ava have more to say? Why is she staring? Can Ava please stop looking at her like that because it's filling Beatrice with that same comfort she felt earlier. That same feeling she felt when she hugged Ava. That same feeling she felt in her childhood. That same feeling she felt in grade school. 

At one point that feeling would have brought a smile to Beatrice's face, but times have changed, Beatrice has changed. Now that feeling swells Beatrice with memories she does not want to remember. Memories that if she thought about for too long, she'd go insane. That same feeling of joy and warmth is followed by regret and emptiness. No longer can Beatrice revel and bathe in this feeling, no. She has to let the warmth fade through quickly, only to be replaced by an underlying sensation of chills. Not cold enough to hurt or shiver but cool enough to make Beatrice uncomfortable. To make Beatrice hold a constant feeling of anxiety. Warmth chased out by the cold.

So, when Beatrice notices a pattern emerging between this feeling and Ava, it overflows her with paranoia.

But she can't find it within herself to care in this very moment because Ava's smile is too damn capturing. So, Beatrice lets the question flow off her lips.

"What?" A grin is what's left on Beatrice's face after she asks. Beatrice hasn't felt like this in years, she's allowed to smile. Right?

Right?

There’s a small pause before Ava answers. A quiet moment where Beatrice and her are just staring at each other. Something bubbles under Beatrice’s skin but she blames it on being so close to an angel's halo, she knows the real reason. There’s just not enough time nor patience to dive into it any further.

“I’m just trying to figure out whether you’re more or less nun-like than the others.” Ava’s asking with a smile still on her lips. Like what she asked is humorous, which it is, in Beatrice’s eyes. 

She doesn’t really know the answer. People assume Beatrice is extremely religious because she took her vows young, at a first glance she’d make the same guess. But Beatrice knows that’s not it. She knows that just because she was deemed worthy to take her vows young does not make her a saint. The assumption seems a bit childish to Beatrice, but she would never voice that. It’s the most reasonable choice, so that’s what she tells Ava.

Ava’s answer surprises her though. Beatrice was expecting the usual replies, “Oh how interesting,” or a question, “How old were you when you took your vows?”

Instead, Beatrice is met with a deflection. “You’d think it would.” The words are simple and lighthearted, but they mean so much. They mean that Ava knows Beatrice’s age has nothing to do with her vows. Ava’s words were uttered as a statement, a comment, but there’s an underlying question. It’s not said out loud, nothing to indicate there’s a question being asked, but it’s there.

‘Why did you become a nun?’ 

Once again, Beatrice doesn’t know the answer, she doesn’t know the easy answer. Which is something Beatrice rarely admits to.

She’s ready to tell Ava the casual cover, the story she tells to visiting tourists at the Cats Cradle. The simple one that will get people off her back and let her free to do her tasks for the day. Beatrice is ready to tell Ava that story.

So why do the words that come out of her mouth betray her? Why are they not, “A special connection with God.” It’s not, “It runs in the family.” Beatrice can barely hear herself speaking, the parts she does pick up though are about her parents. That in itself is something she never does; Beatrice hasn’t talked about her family since she arrived at the Cats Cradle. What surprises Beatrice the most though is how easy it is, how everything is just flowing out of her.

The words are just flowing out of Beatrice’s mouth without a care in the world. It feels natural, it feels right. It doesn’t feel like even the thought of these memories make Beatrice feel sick. It doesn’t feel like she’s tried to ignore that part of her life and shove it so deep down that instead of memories they become laws. Something programmed into her. She’s surprised she isn’t gagging on her words. 

The memories are bitter, tasting of metal, like blood, but when they pour past Beatrice’s lips, all that is left on her tongue is the taste of citrus. Something refreshing and sweet but still slightly stings. It’s freeing and oh so pleasant.

Beatrice isn’t meeting Ava’s gaze anymore. While it feels as if Beatrice is no longer in control of her body, she knows that even with her burst of confidence, she still won’t be able to look at Ava in the eyes and tell her these things. (She knows that if she does look Ava in the eye there won’t be anything stopping her from shedding the tears screaming to be let loose)

Beatrice Tells Ava what actually happened. Not in detail of course, that would be insane. Even more insane than her telling a girl she kidnapped just yesterday her life story. Even more insane that Beatrice is slowly getting closer to the halo-bearer, like her body itches to be as close as possible. Even more insane than the fact that Beatrice has to use everything inside her to not look into Ava’s eyes at the moment.

Beatrice tells Ava about boarding school and when Ava asks for more, almost whispering, “There’s more to it than you’re telling.”

The comment makes Beatrice chuckle. She’s already sharing her life story with her and Ava wants more?

Beatrice steps back, afraid that she might listen to every nerve in her body and tell Ava what happened. “There’s always more.” And leaves it that.


	4. the only heaven i'll be sent to is when i'm alone with you

**_Chapter Four_** : the only heaven i’ll be sent to is when i’m alone with you

_45°F | 7°C_

The next time Beatrice sees Ava again, it’s a surprise. A surprise to Ava and a surprise to Beatrice, for multiple reasons. For one, barely twenty minutes before arriving at the Cat’s Cradle she was seated at a bus stop, ready to leave.

No. Ready to leave weren’t the right words. Beatrice was about to be forced and manipulated into leaving her home and the people she held close to her heart.

She was going to do it too, moments away from accepting her decided fate. It’s not like Beatrice had just mindlessly listened to Mother Superion’s orders and was willing to get on the bus. Every moment following her meeting with Mother Superion was spent debating on what to do. Beatrice was split and she felt like she had a duty to obey the church but she really didn’t know who the church was at the moment.

While Beatrice did not trust Cardinal Duretti, she trusted Mother Superion. Her words greatly impacted Beatrice’s confusion. She trusted Mother Superion with her life, she may had been harsh and mean but Beatrice knew that she cared very deeply for the sister warriors. She trusted her judgement but at the same time, she had trusted Cardinal Duretti at one point so Beatrice was conflicted. The world didn’t seem right, nothing made sense and, in Beatrice’s eyes, everyone had an ulterior motive.

Beatrice’s mind had a war going through it. It felt as if the opposite sides of Beatrice’s conscious were battling and neither side was winning. One hand, her taught trait of listening to what she was told without question. On the other, her natural instinct to stand up for herself and the ones she loved.

Beatrice thought about her duties to God and her duties to the church while she packed. Beatrice thought about her duties to the OCS and how she could serve God best there as she walked towards the bus stop. Beatrice thought about what Mother Superion had said, “There are many ways to server God.” As she sat down on the bench.

Then, Beatrice remembered what she had told Cardinal Duretti not that long ago. How she told him that her duty was to God and how she only served God. Where did that confidence go? Why couldn’t Beatrice yield it now, when she so desperately needed it.

Tears were brimming her eyes, her time had run out. Beatrice was going to spend the rest of her life regretting this decision but what could she do? She was trapped.

Beatrice had this feeling in her gut, a cold and tight knot resting at the bottom of her abdomen. She’d felt this feeling before, multiple times even. The day she’d been caught kissing another girl in school. The day before her mother sent her to Switzerland. The day she got a letter from her parents encouraging her to continue her path into the church.

Everytime Beatrice had this intense burst of cowardness, she never did anything. Simply accepted whatever was forced onto her. Figuring it would be easier if she’d just listen, that if her natural self wasn’t who people wanted then she’d shove it so deep inside her she was disgusted at the thought of it.

With every passing memory that gut wrenching sensation grew. Beatrice’s chest was now filled with immense pressure, the feeling itching to expand upon itself. Like an overgrown garden, it sprouted and planted and grew. Covering every molecule in Beatrice’s upper body. The impression of choking was pushed onto her lungs, tightly wounding around them.

But, Beatrice would breathe.

In fact, she was breathing just fine. More than fine, actually. Taking deep breaths in increments of seven. Choosing a holy number of course. In, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven. Hold, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven. Out, one, two, three , four, five, six, seven.

As Beatrice focused on her breathing a realization hit her like a ton of bricks. She was breathing. There may have been a constrictor-type hold on her lungs but she was still breathing. It was all in her head. There was absolutely nothing stopping Beatrice from breathing, the same way nothing would be able to stop her from going back to the Cat’s Cradle.

The Cat’s Cradle was her home gosh darn it and she was going to protect it with her last breath. Her duty was to God and to the Halo-Bearer, Duretti and Superion were neither.

So, when the bus pulled up in front of Beatrice, she calmly stood up and walked away.

Now, here she was, standing in Shannon’s old room, confronting a psychopathic nun. Barely giving a glance to Ava when she first walked in, too distracted with the fact that Crimson was about to knock Ava out to focus on the idea that Ava was here in the first place.

Beatrice’s previous battle with the blood-thirsty had taught her a lot, replaying that morning in her head. She remembers watching Crimson use the same variations of moves repeatedly. She was either going to throw a left hook, sweep with her right leg, or use her nunchaku to slam into Beatrice’s abdomen.

“Left hook” Just as Beatrice had predicted, now she had the rest of the moves memorized. “Right-handed chokehold.” Announcing Crimson’s movements split-seconds before she attempted them. Her movements were sloppier than the first time they fought. Cockier, less precise, and larger movements. Like she was proud to punch the Halo-Bearer to the ground, a girl with no training. The thought pinged at Beatrice, annoyance flickering into her emotions then quickly fizzling out.

Crimson’s sloppiness gave Beatrice an advantage. She was choking, pushed forward by Beatrice who was gaining more confidence with each strike. The variation ended there, Crimson would usually improvise or had won the fight at this point. Beatrice wasn’t worried though. The girl was still trying to breathe.

Ava’s voice piped up and Beatrice had momentarily forgotten that she was even there, “Beatrice is badass.” Even with blood splattered on her face, Ava still had a comment.

At the sudden compliment Beatrice subconsciously had gotten cockier. Using moves she wouldn’t normally use, “Bit of an opening on your left,” a spinning kick to the face, “my right.” When was she ever this arrogant? Taunting her opponent was never something would do in spars, let alone this bizarre situation. “Just say when.”

_Just say when?_ What was going on with her. Teasing now?

The sudden boost of confidence had only lasted so long, Crimson rose up from the ground with a shotgun, Mary’s no doubt. Beatrice was done for, she had no weapon, no shield, nowhere to hide, didn’t even have enough time to take a final breath.

Beatrice heard Ava shout before the gun went off. She had braced herself for an impact, just from a gun not Ava. A blast was released and Beatrice was forced to the side.

She didn’t even think to check if she’d gotten hit with anything before running over to a fallen Ava. Calling her name out as if she was in any place to reply. Beatrice felt a tightness in her chest, this was a different tightness though. It didn’t feel like guilt or cowardness, it was fear and worry. This tightness made her hold her breath, “Are you okay?” The question was half for her and half for Ava.

Ava was panting, blood sprinkled on her cheeks and nose. “I can’t feel anything.” Without a seconds hesitation Beatrice reached out and grabbed Ava’s hand. Squeezing it tight, tighter than she should’ve squeezed it. Her eyes burrowing into Ava’s, can’t bear themselves to look away. The dark, deep, brown eyes that were so full of fear and absolute terror.

Beatrice can’t imagine how terrified Ava must be right now, barely getting her life and legs back only for it to be snatched away just because she wanted to save Beatrice.

The sentence replays in Beatrice’s head. _She wanted to save Beatrice._ Ava had the ability to release the blast before Beatrice had even walked in the room but it only came out when Beatrice was about to die. The halo reacts to Ava’s emotions, did that mean that Ava was so scared at the thought of Beatrice dying the halo reacted?

There’s that feeling again, the combination of these thoughts and Ava’s hot as freak hand in her own. Beatrice is flushed with a flare of warmth.

There’s no time to dwell in that feeling though, Ava needs her right now. “Can you feel my hand?” Beatrice gives another squeeze. Half because of her question and half because she needs something to ground herself. She’s surprised her voice came out clear and steady. Expecting it to be trembling. Calmly explaining what probably happened to Ava and then rushing to get her out of the Cat’s Cradle.

Beatrice isn’t allowed to think about Ava until she gets shot with an arrow, supposedly only worried for her health. Beatrice’s mind is too swarmed with getting out and alive and safe to think about the very large flare of worry when she thinks about Ava getting hurt, even though she knows she’ll heal. Beatrice is too worried about living to wonder about her feelings.


End file.
